Scarred Regrets (Bellandi Crime Syndicate 5)

"Where is he?" I asked, abandoning the useless window that wouldn’t open to let me out to the fire escape and spinning to stare back at the man who studied me intently. The cruel smirk that transformed his face only worsened the heaving of my lungs as they labored in my chest.

"You've got better things to worry about than your little boy toy." He grinned, taking a step toward me. I grabbed my cell phone and threw it at his face. He ducked, shock crossing his features when it clattered against the wall behind him. He didn't move in time to avoid the mason jar that I grabbed off the sill and threw, the heavy glass filled with chia pudding catching him in the forehead.

I watched it bounce off his head, breaking against the floor finally. "Fucking bitch," he groaned, touching a hand to his forehead. It came away stained with blood, the cut on his face trickling red that oozed to drip down between his eyes. "I'm going to enjoy every second of this," he growled, tucking his gun back into his holster as a second man stepped into the bedroom.

Something passed between them, a moment of silent communication while I tried to look around the bedroom without attracting attention. I needed a plan.

Something to fucking kill them with.

"Come on now, love. You don't want to do this the hard way," he murmured, nodding at the other man, who stepped forward slowly. He moved for me at the same time I lunged to the side, grabbing the poker from my bedroom fireplace and clutching it tightly in my hands.

Whirling to face him, I caught him in the side of the head with all my strength. He fell to the floor, landing flat on his stomach and not moving again.

My first attacker studied me for a moment, taking in my heaving chest and the way I tightened my grip on the fire poker and readjusted it. Daring him to come close enough. After a moment, those cruel lips twisted into another smirk, and he shocked me when a laugh rumbled in his chest. "Oh, you're a fun little princess aren't you?"

"I am not a fucking princess," I snarled. He lunged suddenly, catching the poker in his grip when I swung it for him. We fought for it, me refusing to release it to his demented hands. Hooking his foot around the back of mine, he swept my feet out from under me and I fell backward. The body of the other man broke my fall, taking some of the impact as my breath expelled from my lungs.

Scrabbling to sit up, I screamed when he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me to my feet. "You're prettier when you’re covered in blood," he whispered, turning me so my back pressed into his front. His erection dug into my spine, leaving little doubt he believed his words. A drop of blood dripped off his forehead, landing on my bare shoulder revealed by my sleeveless dress.

He groaned, pulling tighter so that my head was forced to the side. The wet heat of his mouth sealed over the drop of blood, licking it from my skin in a sloppy touch that made my whole body shudder.

When he pulled back, the barrel of his pistol pressed against the side of my head. "Let's go, love." I resisted the urge to swallow around the saliva in my mouth, instead choosing to twist in his grip so I could spit it in his face.

He growled another warning, wiping the saliva off his face with the back of his hand. Releasing my hair, he moved his grip to wrap his arm around my neck and forced me to walk forward. The hallway came into view, the last remaining man of the three standing over Bryan's half-limp body. The gun was missing from his hand, his arm bent at an impossible angle.

"Bryan!" I screamed, watching his entire body shudder as the other man kicked him in the ribs.

"Iri..." Bryan groaned, his unbroken arm reaching toward me as he turned his head. Blood pooled around his body, spreading out on the hardwood floors as it seeped from him.

Elbowing the man behind me in the ribs, I struggled out of his grip. Falling to my knees at Bryan's side, I touched tentative fingers to each and every bullet hole in his torso.

Ten shots. It was a miracle he was still breathing, that he could speak. "He'll come for you," he whispered, his voice breaking as it rasped from his lungs. A sob strangled my chest as I watched blood bubble up between his lips. "Just hold on." One of my tears fell onto his face, as I leaned over him, shaking my head as I begged him not to leave me.

"Please, don't—”

Another shot rang through the room and Bryan's head fell to the side. I watched in shock as blood trickled out of the fresh bullet wound in his temple, his eyes turning glassy and unseeing. Spinning to stare at the man who'd shot him, I watched him return his gun to his holster casually.

As if he hadn't just killed a man who no longer threatened him, in cold blood.

Rage simmered inside me, heating until it boiled over. It was all so pointless. So fucking useless. Bryan could have lived.

"Where's Jack?" the other man asked. The leader, the one who had proven to be the greatest threat, reached down and gripped me under my arm pits. Hauling me to my feet while I shrieked and screamed, he tossed me over his shoulder.

"Dead. This one bashed his fucking head in," the leader chuckled.

"Fucking Christ," the other man whistled. Taking my only chance, I reached for the gun at his waist, snatching it in my grip and turning it on the other man. "Watch it, Darragh!"

I never got the chance to aim. Not when the leader, Darragh, dropped me so quickly that pain exploded in my ribs and I couldn't breathe. He straddled my waist, gripping my arm at the wrist before I could catch my breath.

"Let it go," he ordered, getting in my face. I pulled the trigger, not caring where or what I shot at the moment and only hoping it would hit one of them by some random luck.

"Fuck!" the other man shouted, the sound of his body falling to the ground as he groaned. "This goddamn bitch!"

"We thought we were here to take a pampered princess. Looks like we got a wild cat instead," Darragh laughed. Lifting my wrist off the floor, he slammed it back down with all his strength. Pain exploded up my arm, but I still clung to the gun with all the strength left in me. "Let it go," he repeated.

"Fuck you!" I yelled.

"That," he said, leaning over me so that his other hand held me at the elbow with a bruising grip. I groaned, using my free hand to punch at his body while I struggled beneath him as he continued. "Can definitely be arranged, sweetheart. Let go of the gun."

I snarled at him, spitting in his face again when he leaned too close. "Eat shit, you motherfucking—” my words cut off as a scream erupted in their place. White-hot pain exploded through me long before my brain caught on to what had happened.

The snap of my arm echoed through the space like a gunshot as Darragh bent it back at the elbow, the pain blinding me while he pried the gun from my limp fingers. My forearm lay at my side, useless, as he stood and tucked the gun into the front of his jeans.

"You should have let go of the gun, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping as if he regretted hurting me. We both knew it was a lie. "Get the fuck up," he snapped at his partner. My blurry gaze trailed to him, watching him stand and grip his bicep tight to his body.

It was a shame I didn't fucking kill him, too.

Darragh leaned down, grabbing a syringe from his pocket. "Why the fuck didn't you put her down before she shot me?" his friend asked, bouncing from foot to foot.

"There's something about a woman who fights against the inevitable. I'm almost sad it's over," Darragh answered, leaning down into my space. Flinching away from the needle, I tried to slide away across the blood-soaked floor.

"Goodnight, love," he murmured softly as he jabbed me in the neck. He withdrew it, tossing it to the side and leaving me to fight back the rapid haze rising over my awareness. Darragh and the other man discussed their plans for Bryan’s body, random words filtering through the fog in my brain.

Decapitation. A message. Carve him up.

I couldn't even gather the strength to turn my head, and the last thing I saw was Bryan's lifeless stare as everything faded to black. It was almost a welcome reprieve from the pain, from the reality of what my life had cost.

Almost.